Temptation
by AdrenalineRush16
Summary: One shot. "The posters were insulting smokers...and one of those people that they were insulting was my mom...It's not like I want anyone to smoke...But it's awfully hard to condemn smokers when your own mom is one."


**Disclaimer: I don't own _Newsies_.**

**A/N: Not a pro-smoking one shot but it also doesn't promote the abuse of smokers themselves.**

* * *

><p><strong>Temptation<strong>

"Kissing a smoker is like licking an ashtray."

"No one likes a butt kisser."

"Is this what you want to look like?"

I stopped in my tracks and stared at the posters I saw in front of me. Pictures of people smoking were all over the papers. The people in the posters looked sick, almost zombie-like. Their skin was saggy and a weird yellowish gray. Their eyes were dilated, as well as having a yellowish tinge to them. Each person looked somewhat devilish. Cigarettes were hanging out of their mouths and smoke surrounded them.

While my mind took it in, I just stood there, looking like a fool with my jaw on the floor. It was before school on a Tuesday morning, so not many kids were in the hallway but I still got some strange looks.

Not that I cared of course. At the moment, my thoughts were focused completely on the posters and as the meaning of them sunk in, I began to get angry. My fingers tucked into a fist.

Who put up those posters? My mind asked heatedly. How dare they? Did they have any idea what they were doing? A wave of sadness washed over me but at glancing at the posters again, I got mad again.

"Hey Blink! Whatcha starin' at?"

I snapped out of my reverie to see my best friend Mush Meyers jogged up to me.

"Nothin' Mush," I said as he drew closer. "You ready for that math test third hour?" I asked, changing the subject.

Mush shrugged. "Dunno. I studied but I don't feel ready."

I clapped him on the back. "Don't worry pal, you're great at math."

Mush grinned. "Thanks dude." We started walking in the opposite direction of the posters which I was grateful for. I didn't want Mush to see those posters. They probably wouldn't affect him the same way they affected me but I still didn't want him to see them. If he saw them, he might figure out why I was standing there looking so stunned.

Mush chattered to me about his latest date and how lucky he was since she was such an awesome girl. I tried to listen and act like nothing was wrong. And technically, nothing should have been wrong. But I still couldn't shake that nagging feeling I had. I pushed my anxiety deep down within me and hoped that Mush wouldn't notice that I wasn't my cheerful normal self.

Unfortunately, Mush is a very sensitive person, not to mention my best friend. He picked up on my contentious mood after going only twenty feet.

"You okay Kid?" he asked as we were about to split to our different homerooms. Most guys don't like asking about one another's well-being but Mush is different that way. He's pretty sensitive which is why a lot of girls go for him. I mean, I get my fair share of chicks too but Mush is just a girl magnet because he's not afraid to be emotional. That turns a lot of girls on.

That and he also has six pack abs.

"Just tired I guess," I lied, faking a smile. "I stayed up pretty late last night playing video games."

It was a good thing that we were both outside of our classrooms by then or else Mush might've asked what I was doing. Someone like Jack Kelly, one of our pals, wouldn't have but like I said, Mush is different. Not necessarily nosy, just…attentive.

However, the bell was starting to ring so he just pounded my shoulder and told me to 'hang in there' before dashing off. "It's only Tuesday you know!" he called to me.

I rolled my eyes and walked into homeroom, feeling a little low. Those posters shouldn't have bugged me as much as they did. I mean, it's not like I want anyone to smoke right? Smoking is unhealthy, everyone agrees on that.

But it's awfully hard to condemn smokers when your own mother is one.

* * *

><p>"So, that test wasn't so bad now was it?" Those were Mush's first words to me at lunch that day.<p>

I feigned a smile. "Yeah, not bad. But I wasn't the one worrying about it."

Mush shrugged, grinning. "Meh, whatever."

I was lying again because I was pretty sure I bombed that test. I didn't pay a lot of attention to the exam and barely finished on time. The entire hour I had been thinking about those posters again. I had been fine in periods one and two because I had been distracted but when I went to math, I passed the posters again and all those confusing feelings from this morning came rushing back.

It's not like I agreed with smoking—I didn't. I'd been in enough health classes to know that smoking kills. And even though I didn't have the nerve to tell my mom that I was worried about her long term help, I still wished that she would stop.

Second hand smoke kills too, you know.

It wasn't just health reasons though. I didn't like when it took my mom several showers before she went out in order to get the cigarette smell out her hair. I didn't like how irritated my mom got when she needed a smoke. And I hated walking into a house that reeked of cigarette smoke. There was a reason I didn't bring my friends over very often.

But yet, she was my mom. Even though I knew the smoking was bad, I never could bring myself to tell her my fear. You'd think that a fifteen year old would be able to face up to his mother, but I couldn't. I was so scared that I would hurt her. We were all each other had. My parents divorced when I was seven and I rarely saw my dad anymore. He was remarried and didn't have much time for me. Last I had heard, he and his new wife were expecting a baby anyhow.

I will never forget the look on my mom's face when she heard. She had been through so much, what with the divorce and my constant eye problems. My left eye has been partially blind ever since I crashed into our kitchen counter when I was four. I have a scar stretching up through my eyebrow and my left eye is cloudier than my right. But I don't have to wear an eye patch like I used to when I was younger. Nevertheless, extra medical issues that my eye caused just added more of a headache to her life. After all, she was a single mom trying to raise a boy who was one fourth blind. Her ex-husband didn't give a flying flip about what happened to his previous family, plus she was working full time. My mom did a lot for me; wasn't it only fair that I didn't start nagging her about her smoking? (Although as ratty as it sounds, if we really needed to save money, cutting the cigarette costs would help.)

"The test was okay," Jack had started talking with Mush about the test while I was spacing out. By that time, the three of us had reached our lunch table and were sitting down with some of our other friends. The math test subject evolved into bashing tests in general. Skittery was particularly vehement about tests that day because he had just supposedly bombed his history test the period before. Any other day, I would've ribbed Skitts a little about the test, called him Skittles, and the like. Skittery is pretty hysterical when he gets rattled. But that day, I wasn't really in the mood.

I finally figured out after enough brooding that what had bothered me so much about the posters was that they demonized smokers. The posters were insulting smokers, portraying them to be stupid, evil people. And one of those people that they were insulting was my mother.

At that realization, my temper soared and my blood boiled. I'm usually known as a pretty laidback guy around my friends and I don't get mad easily. But those posters struck a nerve in me and I felt like I could punch somebody.

"You okay Kid?" Mush poked me. "You look mad."

"Yeah, usually Skittery's the only one that looks like he wants to axe someone," Racetrack added snidely, earning a glare from Skittery himself.

"The only person I'd want to axe right now is _you_ Race," Skittery threatened.

"You sure you're okay?" Mush asked, swinging the attention back to me before Skittery and Race could continue squabbling.

"I'm fine," I growled, getting up from the table. I then walked away, my hands jammed in my pockets. I ignored the questioning looks behind me and hurried away to the library to be alone with my turbulent thoughts.

* * *

><p>"Mom?" I edged into the den, looking for my mother. She was lounging on the sofa, watching TV. "Mom?"<p>

She turned to me. "Oh hi honey," her smile was sleepy. "How was school?"

"It was fine." I sat hesitantly on the couch next to her. "Um, Mom? There's something I wanted to talk to you about." I wasn't sure how to begin. How do you tell your mother that you were worried about her smoking?

My mom blinked tiredly. "Is it something serious sweetheart?" she asked gently. "I'm afraid I can't think very hard right now. Do me a favor and get me a cigarette? There's a pack is on the counter."

Without a word, I went into the kitchen and fetched a cigarette. Mom had her lighter out of her pocket by the time I got back and quickly lit up, breathing deeply in the smoke. I tried not to cough as the smell of smoke whiffed past me.

After a few drags, my mom turned towards me again. "Was there something you wanted to talk to me about sweetie?"

I felt as if I had swallowed my tongue. "Never mind," I said getting up swiftly. "It's nothing."

My mom didn't even blink. "Alright," she said, taking another drag and then turning up the volume on the TV. I hurried out of the room, guilt flooding my conscience.

I stayed in my room for a while since it seemed like it was the only room that didn't reek of cigarette smoke. One of the things that I hated the most about the winter was the inability to open the windows. New York isn't the coldest state in the United States but it definitely can get chilly.

The posters that I had seen in the school had bothered me all night long. Wasn't it politically incorrect to do stuff like that? I'm not a very political person but since the school was always shoving us all that stuff about being conscious of different views, you'd think that they would have the decency not to bash smokers like that.

I wasn't sure what to do. I still didn't know how to talk to my mom about it but I knew for a fact that quitting smoking was supposed to be extremely hard. Did I really expect that just because I asked her to, my mom will stop smoking? She had smoked since she was practically my own age!

No, I couldn't talk to her about it. I didn't think that she'd understand.

Sighing, I ran my thumb gently over the scar on my eye. It didn't hurt unless I pressed it hard but I still wasn't supposed to touch it very often. I gazed at myself in the mirror. My left eye looked so cloudy compared to my right eye. The left iris probably would have looked normal if the scar was gone and you didn't compare it to my right eye. (My right eye was a bright blue whereas the left was murky and had tinges of gray.)

I glared at my reflection in the mirror and quickly turned away. Thankfully, I didn't look as freakish as I once did with the scar and everything, and I knew that it had faded with time, but it was still pretty conspicuous. I had proof of that whenever I went into a store and someone would look at me funnily. I never told people how irritated that made me; it's not like that would help. I just toughed it out and hoped that the scar would fade away completely with time. Maybe someday my eye would be healed too. I was fifteen; perfect time to start driver's education and get my permit. I hadn't asked about the possibility of me ever getting my driver's license for fear that the answer would be no. So far, not a lot of my friends had taken driver's ed. yet so I had held off the question but it was coming soon. It was a scary thought. If I had foreseen all the trouble that skidding around the kitchen floor would cause, I would have never run in the house at all.

I shook my head suddenly. I had been staring out the window moodily for the past few minutes and hadn't even blinked. Letting out an enormous sigh, I left my room and wandered downstairs. I could tell that my mom was still smoking because the smoke was 'fresh'. (It sounds oxymoronic to say something like that, but when you live with a smoker, you kinda can understand what I'm talking about.

I grabbed my soccer jacket and stepped outside into the chilly November air. I breathed deeply and shivered. I was glad that soccer season had finished; it was starting to get cold. Despite the cold though, I began to walk. My mom doesn't care where I was as long as I am home for dinner. I don't live in an abusive home; my mom doesn't neglect me or hurt me, but she isn't always very attentive. I know that my mom loves me, but she doesn't show it like most moms do. Most boys wished that their moms would stop hounding them all the time about schoolwork and stuff. I'm lucky if my mom asks about my homework at all. I mean, she goes to parent-teacher conferences when her job schedule lets her but that's about it. She trusts me to keep my grades up and stay focused. If I want to go to college, I need to stay smart and hopefully get some scholarships. Sometimes she'll come to my soccer games because she knows how much that means to me but again, her job schedule doesn't always let her.

I walked for a long time that night before I finally wandered back inside. My fingers were freezing and my teeth were chattering. When I walked into the house though, the smoky scent was less pungent and I could smell pasta cooking. I walked into the kitchen where my mom was stirring some sauce in a pan.

"Isn't this nice?" she beamed. "Your grandma stopped by while you were at school with some homemade pasta sauce."

This time, I didn't have to force a smile. "Great!" My mom can cook and I sorta can too, but usually we'll both be too lazy and we'll just get something cheap from the store or make something simple, like buttered noodles. Although I've started to try to make pesto out of my mom's basil plant and it's turned out pretty well. However, that's not always the case.

Dinner was sorta quiet since I was still feeling uncomfortable about talking to my mom about smoking. I ended up just doing homework at the table and going to bed afterwards. But before I fell asleep, I formulated a plan.

* * *

><p>I woke up earlier than normal in the morning and left for school around seven o'clock. School didn't start until eight, but I wanted to be there early.<p>

Ten minutes later, I arrived at school by bike and quickly went inside. (It was a cold morning.) Without stopping at my locker, I powerwalked through the school until I reached the music hallway, where band, choir, and drama were located. Going to the office at the very end of the hallway, I readjusted my backpack and then knocked on the door.

"Come in!" a light high voice sang out.

I poked my head inside the door and smiled. "Heya Medda!"

The drama teacher, Ms. Larkson, or Medda, as she lets us call her outside of school, was sitting on her desk, one leg crossed over the other, waving her hands around. "Good morning!" she greeted enthusiastically. "Sorry about the smell in here, I had to re-touch up my nails this morning." She shook her pink nails repeatedly, trying to dry them.

I laughed. Leave it to Medda to paint her nails in school. "No problem."

"So what can I do for you this morning Louis?" she asked smiling. Medda will sometimes call me Kid or Kid Blink but more often, she calls me Louis, my real name. Medda calls us all by our nicknames once in a while just to tease. Since we call her by her first name when no one else is around, I guess it's only fair. I don't really care though and neither do any of my friends. Medda acts sort of like an aunt to us. She was probably the person I trusted most in my school, besides my friends. If I could talk to anyone about what I was feeling with the smoking issue, it'd be Medda.

My smile faded a little. "I wanted to talk to you about something Medda," I said seriously.

Medda evidently caught my tone. "Why don't you sit down," she said, jumping off her desk and gesturing to a chair.

I dropped my backpack and sank into the chair. Medda sat in her own chair but pulled it around so that we were next to each other instead of facing each other across a desk.

"Now," she said once she had gotten comfortable. "What is it you need to talk to me about? You sound serious," she said peering into my eyes.

I felt a little uncomfortable but told Medda my story anyway. It felt awkward at first but once I started getting into my story, the words flowed out of me faster than I thought. Medda already knew about why I had my scar and that my parents were divorced but I told her again anyway just to try to explain why I didn't feel like I could prod my mom.

"It's not really just the posters I have an issue with," I finished with. "They just remind me of my mom and they remind me that I haven't told my mom how I feel."

"Hmm," said Medda, leaning back in her chair and thinking for a moment. "Smoking is a dangerous thing," she said thoughtfully. "My own father passed away because of lung cancer and he smoked like a stack all of his life."

My face must have showed my panic because Medda immediately said "But getting cancer from smoking is less common than you think. There are always exception stories." Her face darkened. "But I know that it's hard to quit. I myself smoked for several years when I was younger."

I was dumbfounded. "Really?"

Medda nodded. "When I was in school, smoking awareness was nowhere near as prominent as it is now and what with my father smoking all of the time, it seemed natural for me to smoke a cigarette once in a while. I knew that my mother didn't like it but at the time, I was turning into a bit of a wild child, so I didn't care. I really only stopped when I realized what an effect smoking could have on my singing voice."

I smiled a little. "Wild child?"

"Oh yes," said Medda very matter of fact but with some amusement. "I thought I would be a hippie to the end of my days but many of my views on life have changed since when I was a teenager."

"I can imagine you as a hippie," I said this time grinning. Medda had her quirks and it was easy to picture her as a flower child. Part of me wondered what had made her change and why but something told me that that was a story for another time.

"Anyway," said Medda, her voice losing its joking tone. "The question is what do you do?"

I scuffed my shoes against the floor. "That's the thing," I said sighing. "I don't know. I'm not even sure if there is anything that I can do. I mean, those posters-"

"I wasn't talking about the posters," Medda said in amusement. "Although I understand what you mean and personally, I don't like them either. Smoking is not to be encouraged by any means, but I do think that the school could think of a better way to spread that message."

"Yeah," I agreed awkwardly, not really knowing what to say.

"Anyway," Medda said kindly. "I meant is what do you do about your mom?"

I looked down at my hands. "I don't know," I said softly. "Again, I don't know what I _could_ do."

"You could tell her yourself how you feel," Medda said kindly. "You shouldn't feel that you can't talk to your mother about something like this. I can understand where you're coming from and it does you credit that you're thinking like that. However," she said holding up a hand to stop my coming interruption. "You're a very caring young man Louis but you need to think about yourself a little too. Is this smoking hurting you at all?"

I looked down. "Yeah, well—I guess," I said awkwardly. "Like I said, I don't like that she smokes and all that but don't I owe it to her to just suck it up?"

Medda blew air through her teeth and looked at me thoughtfully. "Tell me one thing," Medda asked after a moment. "And I hope you won't be offended by this question; do you ever feel like smoking?"

Medda's question caught me off guard. "I – I don't know," I stuttered out. "I mean, not really. Sometimes…"I trailed off. "I remember when I used to watch movies with smoking in them and I thought it was cool but now that I'm older, I don't like it as much." I tried to smile. "Health class sorta ruined it for me. But in a good way!" I said the last sentence hastily.

Deep down though, I wasn't really telling the truth. No, I didn't like smoking that much. But did I ever feel tempted to take my mom's cigarettes and smoke one?

Yes. Definitely.

I don't think I could ever really explain it, but there's something in me that almost feels like a habit – to take up the cigarette and have a puff. I never had but I have felt my fingers itch to do it once in a while.

Medda looked at me carefully, as if she knew I was lying. I avoided her glance and just looked down. So if Medda knew, she didn't press.

"Will you let me think about this a little bit Kid?" she asked me softly. "I'm not really sure what to do right now."

"That's fine," I said standing up quickly and grabbing my backpack. "If anything, I just wanted to tell someone."

Medda nodded. "I understand." She smiled. "Just let me know if you need anything. And in the meantime, I'll think about what you told me, okay?"

I smiled. "Yeah, I do. Thanks Medda."

"Anytime Kid," Medda called back as I shut the door behind me and hurried to my locker.

* * *

><p>Although my talk with Medda in the morning was helpful, I tried to ignore that memory all day. It wasn't just because I still felt uncomfortable because of the whole posters thing but also because of the question Medda had asked me about cigarettes. I tried not to think about it but I got the itch to smoke more often than I'd like to say though I'd never tell Medda that. I always have tried to push that desire out of me. Smoking is a big no-no; I've know that for years. But still…<p>

That idea of smoking bothered me all day until I couldn't concentrate at all. The second the last bell rang, I dashed out the door. I didn't even bother to wait for Mush or any of my buddies; I just ran. Ran through the hallways, out the door, and ran to my house.

Bolting into the house, I dropped my backpack onto the floor and paused, panting, to hear if my mom was home. I knew she would be at work, but I had to make sure. The house was silent and the car wasn't in the driveway.

My breathing slowing down but my pulse still racing, I crept upstairs to my mom's room. She always left her cigarettes lying around the house since she wasn't allowed to smoke at work and only brought some cigarettes with her for lunch breaks.

I went up to her dresser to where a pack of cigarettes was lying. I slid one white cylinder out of the package and then pulled out my lighter. My mom didn't know but I had had a lighter for years. I had only used it for bonfires and stuff like that though.

I placed the cigarette in my mouth. I had never smoked before but I knew what to do. Slowly, I flicked the lighter and brought the flame near to my mouth.

KNOCK KNOCK!

I nearly dropped the lighter and set the floor on fire, I startled so bad. Who could be knocking on my door at this time of day?

Too curious to ignore it, I walked downstairs and opened to the door to see Mush standing on my doorstep.

"Hey Kid!" he greeted cheerfully. "What's up?"

My hand closed around the white cylinder in my pocket and squeezed it. "Not much," I said nervously, desperately wanting to smoke my cigarette.

"I just wanted to check up on you," Mush said casually. "You seemed really down today and since you took off right after school…" he trailed off.

I didn't really know what I was supposed to say. Get out of here Mush so I can smoke my dang cigarette?

Probably not.

Mush searched my face. "Are you alright Kid?" he asked gently. "You seem really shaky."

It was like my world came crashing down. I don't know what processed me to take that cigarette but I suddenly realized that I couldn't start smoking. Not in a million years.

My jaw dropped. Suddenly, the impact of what I was about to do hit me. Here was my best friend, who had known me for forever and what would he think if I started smoking? Didn't I know better? I had been listing off not too long ago what I hated about my mom being addicted to smoking and suddenly I wanted to try it?

I nearly threw my arms around Mush in gratitude. I gave him a crooked grin instead. "Yeah, I'm fine." I said rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly. "Just one of those days."

Mush nodded understandably. "Do you want to go for a bike ride or something then?" he asked. "I've got a really craving for some ice cream."

Leave it to Mush to want ice cream at 2:45 P.M. But I knew that I needed to get out of the house. The initial danger and temptation of smoking had passed but I really didn't want to be alone in the house anyway. I bobbed my head. "Sure!" I said enthusiastically, hoping that Mush couldn't hear the quiver in my voice. "Just hold on while I get my wallet."

Leaving Mush standing in the foyer, I darted upstairs. Placing the cigarette back in the package, I let out a deep breath, still shocked at what I had almost done. I gingerly picked up my lighter from the floor and placed it in my pocket. I took one last look at my mom's bedroom and then headed back downstairs.

I never told Mush what he had done when he came to my door that day. In fact, I never told anyone. Not my mom, Medda, or any of the guys. I'm ashamed of that moment where I almost gave into the drug that was hurting my mother. Even now, over a year later, there are still times that I feel tempted to try a cigarette; my fingers twitch and my head swims and I feel like I might fly into pieces if I don't yield. But I don't. Instead, I've learned to take a jog or to call Mush or whatever. It's stressful and it sucks but it works. I only hope that my mom can someday find it in herself to also say no to the cigarette, just like I have.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, I've been kicking around this idea for a while now and finally got it written down. I'm not in favor of smoking by any means and I know that it's hard to quit. But I also feel that too often, smokers are villianized and after seeing posters very similar to this in my school, I became very angry like Kid Blink. Writing this one shot helped me get out some of my feelings. Let me know what you guys think!**

**As always,**

**Adren**


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